


Once A Rebel...

by ocarinawithlime



Series: McHanzo Week 2016 [3]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: M/M, mentions of drinking and smoking, mentions of hanzos titty, old men bantering like housewives, they finally got put together on a mission and jesse nearly forgot until the day of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-21
Updated: 2016-12-21
Packaged: 2018-09-11 00:00:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,117
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8944606
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ocarinawithlime/pseuds/ocarinawithlime
Summary: Day 4- Role ReversalIn which Jesse gets called out for being his own stereotype.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Happy hump day guys, 3 days left! I struggled for inspiration for this one but then I was like "I bet Hanzo is such a funny drunk" and then I whipped this up. Consider it a partner fic to day two, if you want. A bit of a breather before more drama happens ;)

Sometimes it’s possible to take a moment and humor oneself; to gain a different perspective. When your identity was composed of old decisions from the past, it was harder than most to become separate - and therefore, certain people became their own self-fulfilled prophecy.

It was only thanks to what Jesse Mccree pinned on fate and luck, that he could sometimes witness it. He recalled a few rare moments.  


 

Hanzo took another swig of the cowboy’s own scotch, he swiped the hat from his head and pulled it down over his eyes melodramatically and took an imaginary drag of a cigar.

“Mah name’s Jesse Mccree, n’ ahm the deadest shot in the whoooole wi-ide west!” He hiccuped. “Ain’t no-body, no-how gonna tell ME what ta do. I play by mah OWN rules.”

“Well, you ain’t wrong about the shootin’ part.”

Hanzo shakily stood up and hooked his thumbs around his waist, imitating a gun being pulled out of its holster. “Ah’m so _-hic-_ dern special that I dun got me a belt that says so right _-hic-_ here!” He patted his invisible buckle. “Ba-ad ass mother fucker, yer darn tootin’, pardner.”

Jesse scoffed from his position on the sofa and dazedly ran a hand through the aftermath of his hat hair. His cheeks were red and his mind spun pleasantly, and Hanzo was being surprisingly entertaining, so he was content to sit back and watch his tipsy boyfriend act his little heart out.

“Haven’t changed that belt buckle in almost twenty years,” He said. “It’s a timeless saying.” It was true, the rebellious side of him was pretty attached to good ol’ BAMF. Nothing wrong with that.

“Wait, really?” Hanzo replied. “Ah mean, I reckon me yer tellin me a tall tale, _darlin’.”_

“Yeah, really, I’ve had that since before...before, er, I’ve had it awhile.

“You never get tired of - er, tootin’ yer own horn, do ya, sweet cheeks?” Hanzo struggled to compose himself but surrendered to laughing at his little production. “Haha, I guess you could say you are - what is it - a one trick pony?”

“Now look here, there’s nothing wrong with bein’ true to my roots,” Jesse sipped at his drink in glee. “Just preservin’ that classic cowboy charm.”

“Oh, write a book.”

“I’ll dedicate it to ya.”

 

 

Hanzo, occupied with tea and a book in the foyer, heard a yell back in the bedroom belonging to his frantically packing boyfriend.

“Hanzo! Honey! Where the hell did you put my boots? I can’t find ‘em anywhere!”

Jesse had again left the job until the morning of departure, and Hanzo had been sitting ready to go for forty-five minutes. “They were dirty and were starting to smell, so I put them outside to dry.”

“To dry?”

“Yes, I washed them off for you. You’re welco-”

“Yer not supposed to soak them in water, they’re real leather! They’re gonna get all shrivelly!”

“Nonsense. They looked fine to me. They’re already worn out, you won’t even notice more damage to them.”

“Oh fer the love of Christ. Why choose now to wash them?”

“You were taking so long falling asleep in the shower and ripping apart the closet, I got bored of waiting.”

“Han-zoooo!”

“Oh, hush. You should always have your shoes off in the house, anyway, I don’t know why you insist on -”

“They’re comfy!” Jesse droned from the bedroom. “How much longer until they’re dry?”

“They should be fine by now.” Hanzo sipped his tea in peace.

After another ten minutes, Jesse tumbled out of the room with his luggage, grumbling to himself. He retrieved his boots from the porch and stuffed his feet inside.

“Jesse, you can’t wear boots in the house. Jesse, you can’t put the colors in with the whites. Jesse, you can’t use twice the recommended sugar in the cookie recipe -”

“Would you listen to yourself? It’s not a _recommended_ amount, it’s the _correct_ amount!”

“Well, mah name’s Jesse Mccree an’ I don’t play by yer rules, remember?” He lit his cigar and blew a billowy cloud up and away, chewing the end of it with more vigor than really necessary.

Hanzo infamously rolled his eyes around the whole room. “My deepest apologies. I forgot how much of a badass you were.”

“Pshh.”

“I’m sorry there was no time for your morning coffee.” Even so, it being Jesse’s fault, Hanzo could see why his boyfriend always indulged in his love of caffeine. The bubbly attitude he usually had on the morning of a mission was replaced with a groggy, gruffy teddy bear.

Jesse stopped his minimal tantrum and uncrossed his arms as they made to descend the stairs. “‘S all right. Nothin’ I can’t handle - _achoo!_ ”

“Are you getting a cold? That’s not going to do you well in Siberia.”

“No, no, I ain’t sick. Not yet, anyway. I’ll just tough it out, no big deal.”

“You know, when I said you don’t play by the rules, I didn’t mean you were just acting tough to be cool.”

“I know that, sugar. But I’m fine. I promise. Besides, last time we went to Russia, didn’t you wear your half-shirt thing one of the days? How’re you gonna tell me to worry about the cold, when you’re walkin’ around with yer tit-”

“Do not be crude, Jesse. It’s a traditional garment.”

“I know, I know, I’m just teasing ya.” Jesse inhaled another drag and pushed the door open to the early California sunrise on the horizon. “I like that outfit on you anyway.” Jesse sneezed into his arm. “Dammit.”

“Let’s go, cowboy. Volskaya awaits, and so will Dr. Ziegler, after I alert her of your condition.”

“No-oo, she’ll be all over me with a whole boatload of pills and ‘bed rest’ and stuff. I told you, I’m perfectly fine.”

“Suit yourself, then.”

Jesse coughed even more on the way to the parking garage, still smoking his cigar, like a moth addicted to a pretty and deadly flame. They arrived at the garage under a dewy orange sky and packed their things into the cargo. Jesse sneezed loud enough that the omnic in the driver’s seat jumped a little.

“I had better not catch anything from you, Jesse.”

“Naw, don’t worry, I’m harmless. Which reminds me, I haven’t gotten a good morning kiss -”

“I’ll kiss you after you are properly medicated.”

“Babe.”

“I’m not taking any risks, I mean it, Jesse.”

“Fine.”

Seated and heading east finally, after Hanzo had cracked open his book again, is when Jesse took him by the shoulders and planted a firm one on Hanzo’s unexpecting lips.

“Once a rebel, always a rebel, it seems.” Hanzo foretold, glaring playfully at his mischievous boyfriend.

  
“Damn straight.” His cowboy boomed.

**Author's Note:**

> Tomorrow's forecast: more fluffsmut
> 
> Prayin for my writer's block not to show up like a lil bitch, I've been doing good so far (even if this is the shortest one heh yesterday squeezed a lot out of me)


End file.
